Charnock answered, with a hoarse laugh, as he sat down
among the litter. "Proper thing when you mean to make a fresh start!
Suppose you take a drink and help."

A whisky bottle and a glass stood on the table, and Festing thought
Charnock had taken some liquor, although he was not drunk. Stooping
down, he began to pick up the papers, which, for the most part, looked
like bills. There were, however, a few letters in a woman's hand, and
by and by he found a bit of riband, a glove, and a locket that seemed to
have been trampled on.

"Are these to be burned?" he asked.

"Yes," said Charnock. "Don't want them about to remind me----Burn the
lot."

Festing, with some reluctance, threw them into the stove. He was not,
as a rule, romantic, but it jarred him to see the things destroyed. They
had, no doubt, once been valued for the giver's sake; dainty hands had
touched them; the locket had rested on somebody's white skin. They
were pledges of trust and affection, and he had found them, trampled by
Charnock's heavy boots, among the dust and rubbish.

"You'd get on faster if you used a brush," he suggested.

"Can't find the brush. Confounded thing's hidden itself somewhere. Can't
remember where I put anything to-night. Suppose you don't see a small
lace handkerchief about?"

Festing said he did not, and Charnock made a gesture of resignation.
"Looks as if I'd burned it with the other truck, but I got that from
Sadie, and there'll be trouble if she wants to know where it's gone. She
may want to know some time. Sadie doesn't forget."

"Did Sadie give you the locket?"

"She did not," said Charnock. "You're a tactless brute. But there's
something else I want, and I don't know where it can have got."

He upset a chair as he turned over some rubbish near the table, under
which he presently crawled, while Festing looking about, noted a small
white square laying half hidden by the stove. Picking it up, he saw
it was the portrait of the English girl, and resolved with a thrill
of indignation that Charnock should not burn this. He felt that its
destruction would be something of an outrage.

He glanced at Charnock, but the latter's legs alone stuck out from under
the table, and as it was obvious that he could not see, Festing dusted
the portrait and put it in his pocket. By and by Charnock crept out and
got upon his feet. It was dark now, but the glow of the burning paper
flickered about the room and touched his face. His hair was